


Lock and Key

by wan17



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: First Times are Good Times, Lapdancing, M/M, Strippers, blowjob, dont even ask, fe:a supports are so dangerous wtf, handjobs, mentions of anal, titty bar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-04 09:39:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4132692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wan17/pseuds/wan17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Gaius,” Chrom makes a strangled sound. “What’s this?” He gestures frantically.</p><p>The thief looks at where he’s gesturing, then stares at him a little funnily. “It’s a hard-on. Don’t tell me you’ve never had one before.”</p><p>or</p><p>Where Chrom looks more than once at Gaius for more than just a few seconds, fleetingly, in battle, and Gaius confirms that it’s more than just suspicion that motivates Chrom to talk to him. It makes it easier for him to acquiesce to teaching him more about the world, after a battle one day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. do me a favor

**Author's Note:**

> fancypants - frederick
> 
> this was written over the span of a year, so forgive disjointedness? i just wanted to get this out, and be done with my feelings? for this fucking? pairing? i MEAN LIKE WHAT THE FUCK WAS THEIR A SUPPORT CONVERSATION? _den of iniquity?_ i had to write it. i couldn't not write it.
> 
> so yeah this was based off chrom and gaius' supports in the game. 100% canon i know
> 
> [edit 7/5/15: ive written the sex scene now bye]

The candy that Gaius pops in his mouth is rich and fine, the best he’s ever had in his life. There’s hints of metal, though, and he thinks the metallic taste may have come from the blood swirling in his mouth, his cheekbones bruised from the wrong end of a spear, his arm bleeding sluggishly from where an axe nicked him. His sword gleams, caught in the firelight of the torches spaced evenly across the walls, as it cuts down another soldier who he’d spent dinner with just a few hours ago. He’d been telling the thief about his newborn daughter back in Plegia. 

Gaius had nodded, only half-listening, and thought vaguely that the gruel they gave out to the mercenaries they’d hired specifically for tonight should have had at least more texture than a dirty puddle that would collect in an alley somewhere, and tasted less like it too. Bit more sugar would have done the trick, he thinks. They should have given out better food, because there’s no joy in it, no pleasure to be derived from killing.

He still doesn’t know why he decided to defect. 

Maybe because he was sick of the gruel. 

Maybe because he didn’t want to see the exalt killed, warm as he’d found her words and quiet strength in his memories as he’d shivered uncontrollably rummaging through garbage for a meal in the dead of winter as a child. 

Maybe it was in the way the prince stood, by his sister, broadsword drawn, eyes flashing. 

Maybe it was in the way he didn’t leave her even though he would have been alive if he didn’t do it, like Gaius had been left to face the noose, alone.

Gaius had instantly felt drawn to the blue blood, an electricity sparking through him as he realized that goodness and purity did exist. If he’d put it under the guise of, “I didn’t sign up for this,” well, it wouldn’t have been entirely untrue. He hadn’t signed up to be a thief. It had been a natural sort of thing, something like... being born into the profession. After all, no one had given him anything free of charge. He’d always have to pay a price that really should have been considered daylight robbery, or steal what he needed. 

Heck, if someone did something out of goodwill at him, he’d probably be grateful enough to them to never stop paying them back, maybe a hundred odd times in return. That sounded good. It sounded like something the grandfatherly priest of the church near the square in the town he was born in who’d sometimes pass him soup and bread on Sunday nights would approve of. Before he’d died and the next one that came along gave him nothing more than a sneer and apathy.

He didn’t have to be a thief anymore. He didn’t want to be a thief anymore. He’d always felt guilty. The priest hadn’t wanted him to steal. When Gaius had seen him watching, for the first time, while he was being dragged across the street beaten half-alive, the intense flare of pain in his arm (how was he supposed to dig through the bins now, Gods) suddenly didn’t matter so much anymore. He’d made eye contact with the priest then, and it was akin to the sensation of maggots crawling under his skin.

But he wasn’t a thief anymore. He’d no longer need to want something he’d known he couldn’t buy, now. 

\--

Thieves are patient. It’s a little known fact about them. Most think that thieves are just in it to get rich quick, and underestimate just how careful they can be.

Most don’t appreciate the planning that goes into a heist. There’s weeks of careful preparation and planning, months sometimes. The ability of keen observation is a necessity. 

It’s not the crowd that Gaius is used to, so he treats the whole join-the-Shepherds-of-Ylisse thing the same he would treat an operation on any other given day. The pace here is jarring, to say the least. He’s used to being able to ignore other people since they only ever die or leave after staying with him awhile (they never stay), but the Shepherds are so accepting (and he’s not a fugitive anymore, he doesn’t have to run or hide for survival), that he actually doesn’t mind trying to appease them.

He’s always thought that an actual, honest, down-to-earth job would be... boring. The sentiment had appeared somewhere in the midst of pricking his fingers so much they became numb, repeatedly sewing buttons onto shirts every day at the workhouse, back from when before he became a professional thief. It was a way to survive, but not the best. It’s certainly liberating to know that being paid monthly wages didn’t necessarily equate to a constant desire to escape, and actually find something worth suffering for.

The thing is, he’d been fine just being an observer. He doesn’t know how, exactly, to mingle with the noble folk, seeing as how he’s been trying to avoid them having him arrested or executed for most of his life. 

But they talk to him, some of them genuinely interested in him and his wellbeing. He turns up his idiosyncracies, makes charisma roll off him in waves, tone svelte and meanings subtle. They’re charmed by him (Gaius has had too much practice weaseling his way through sticky situations). The glares of the rest who haven’t warmed up to him drive into his back like nails, but he can ignore that. They don’t trust him, and that’s alright. He’s never been able to trust himself, either, so he can’t fault them for that.

\--

Resentment is something he can’t hold back. It bristles him, to see the blueblood talking so nonchalantly about his courtly ways. His clothes are made of silk, his hands only calloused from the grip of a sword. He’s probably never went a day without Fancypants dragging his heels behind him and offering to wave that flag with him dressed in the suit he was born in so that it trails in the wind while he walks. Any other day, Gaius would have found it funny.

But Blue’s been sticking to his side for a while now, under orders from their good ol’ Bubbles, and it grates at him how effortlessly he picks off the bandits. Sure, the lot of them are nasty, but even in a rotten basket there’ll be good apples. He’d tagged along a group of them, once. They’d been like the family each of them had never had. 

The way he looks down at Gaius when he talks bothers him, too. He’d never been the tallest in his crowd, but hey, there’d been no need for that stature when all you needed to do was be stealthy and make getaways quick. 

He makes Gaius feel- self-conscious. Like the ribs that had stuck out of his chest and his wiry-scrawny arms weren’t good enough. Around Blue… Gaius feels like he needs to be better. To prove himself in some way, so that Blue’ll look at him for something other than cheap stories (he can get those from Gregor, they’d probably be more entertaining than his, and the mercenary tells them to the rest like he’s throwing bread at birds). As a real comrade or brother or whatever.

Blue has the gall to be dignified even as Gaius guilts him into feeling shame for having wanted a break from the routine. Wanting some freedom, when he didn’t know that real freedom was not worrying about your next meal, not being stuck in a tower with hoity-toity meetings and scrolls and books and a load of all of that. He looks genuinely upset as he leaves the tent.

There’s a lollipop in between his lips when Chrom apologizes to him, and it had been sweet while it’d lasted, but the aftertaste is long and bitter.

\--

It’s a while before they’re thrown together on the battlefield again. It’d been strange, frankly. Gaius whirls red and black and the embers of a dying flame, Chrom is a steady blue and white, the sort of color of sky that you’d get on the rarest of days, when you’d know that the all the lakes in the world would be mighty happy getting that hue reflected to them. They are fire and water, and somehow it makes perfect sense.

\--

He doesn’t say sorry.

Chrom had forgotten all about it anyway, though the honest excitement that flashes before it turns to skepticism had made Gaius feel just a tad guiltier. Hey, he didn’t know what it had really meant back then. He’d been a greenie, just inducted into what would be more aptly described as a dysfunctional extended family than a real army. He didn’t know the extent of the prince’s duties.

The sheer hours he puts in are more than enough proof that he is the most dedicated in their ragtag group. Bubbles could compete with him, but the prince’d specifically instructed the tactician to get enough rest, seeing as how without the only real brains in the operation fresh and ready for barking orders to the lot of them, they’d end up mincemeat in less than an hour on the battlefield.

So he doesn’t give Blue a chance to say no. He’d already asked him first, anyway, in that one disastrous conversation long ago that Gaius finds he’d like a good knock in the head to forget about. Not too hard, though, or with an enemy’s weapon, otherwise he’d be dead.

Gaius gives him a free-sounding laugh as he winks ‘when you’re ready’.

\--

Earlier, he’d been talking to one of the two in the Shepherds who’d married over the course of the campaign, congratulating them on the wedding, and he’d given some thought about a future where he might have settled down and had children. It’s a dream that scares him a little, knowing that he himself might end up raising a child. He’s had no experience with parenting - he has no clue what he’s supposed to do. He has no clue what parents, in general, do, other than conceive the child in the first place. (His parents had done exactly that and had taken no further steps). He smiles a little, though, thinking of a kid who might share the same hair color as him. He wonders if they’ll inherit his sweet tooth, or maybe even the way he rolls his r’s.

Probably’d be a pain in the ass, though, when it’s still young. Gaius is too much of a pushover. The mom would walk all over him, and he’d be the one changing the diapers and rocking it back to sleep at the witching hour. He grimaces.

He wants to watch his kid grow up, though. And if he could do that with the person he’d loved, he’d be too happy to think that this kind of future could have ever been real.

\--

It’s after a particularly rough skirmish with Risen on the outskirts of Ylisse that Chrom drops by Gaius’ tent. He stands at the entrance, clad in a ragged cloak, soot smeared on his cheeks with what appears to be his thumbs, an ominous silhouette. The sun is setting, the sky a collection of dashes of pinks and yellows.

“Let’s go,” Chrom says, bravado quavering his voice.

Gaius sighs from his bed, where he’d been cleaning some blood off his sword. “With a getup like that, Blue, someone’s going to take the chance to maul you before they think you can mug them. Haven’t you ever been out before?”

Red colors his cheeks, and his eyes look away. “I… I didn’t really know what to wear,” he says lamely, fingers fidgeting with the cuffs on his sleeves.

“Just clean that stuff off your face, and put on something that looks a little bit old, but not so old, and a cloak that doesn’t look like it’s gonna disintegrate when you touch it.” Gaius hides the rolling of his eyes with a gesture to wipe some sweat away. It’s been a muggy afternoon. “So, something normal. You got that?”

Chrom has the sheepishness to duck his head when he makes his way back out of the tent, and Gaius can’t help the silly smile that colors his face after he leaves.

“Oh, and don’t forget to bring your gold!” he hollers out.

\--

They set out together not long after, taking particular care to sneak past Twinkles and Fancypants. Those two would hardly have approved to this outing, and banned them from going out at all. Gaius finds that Chrom is really bad at sneaking around. His large frame, so dissimilar to Gaius’, is unfit for this particular task. Gaius also finds that he’s really bad at acting.

“At least try to put up an act,” Gaius hisses after they’d barely made their way by the sentries. “You’re not even trying. You’re awful at this.”

“But-”

“No. You’re out here with me, it means that I’m responsible of taking care of you for the night, right? You’re supposed to pretend that you don’t care. Listen to what I say, Blue. No matter what you think, or what you’ve been taught before, I don’t want to see you trying to tough it with a drunk guy who’s giving you shit about the shape of your rear.”

“But-”

“He was drunk, alright. Leave it.”

“I never turn down a challenge-”

Gaius glares at him, and Chrom wilts, so his gaze softens.

“You’ll have plenty of ladies coming after your ass later in the bars,” Gaius drawls, then smacks Chrom’s butt.

He lets out a yelp, but Gaius doesn’t give him time to respond in any way, dragging him by the arm into an alleyway. It’s too familiar, these streets, and it doesn’t even take them an hour before they reach the district that’s gained its namesake from the crimson lanterns that have just been lit. The streets are scattered with people; the celebration and cheeriness in the air thick and infectious; not much news of the encroaching Plegian bandit forces has reached so far into the heart of Ylisse. Come what may, nothing would destroy Ylisse’s peace - Emmeryn would protect that for them.

Chrom stills by Gaius’ side at the gates, gaudily and abundantly decorated by red lanterns. The sight really is something to see, if you’ve only been here for the first time. For something like a red-light-district, Ylisstol does it well, ever since Emmeryn had taken over the rule in place of her father. Even if the risks that run with the trade still live, it’s been lessened by far, more respect growing for the side that breathes at night. In the crowd, it’s just the two of them - no one stops by or recognizes their faces, shaded as they are by the hood of their cloaks. It’s not particularly cold yet, but they stick close to each other.

At the side of the street near them, there’s a juggler tossing around hams that are on fire, wrists dexterously catching and releasing each by the parched bone like he’d been born doing the practice.

“Wow,” Chrom breathes. “Is that man juggling flaming hams?”

But Gaius is accustomed to the scene, so he’s been watching the way the red lights dance across Chrom’s eyes instead, highlighting the awe in his baby-like cheeks. “You haven’t even seen the half of it.”

He drags Chrom further down, down past the circus acts, tells Chrom not to look into the eyes of a couple of acrobats who are fighting with knives the length of their forearms, arguing about something like whose turn it was to pay the rent that month. Chrom is really interested in that, having never heard anything about ‘rents’ before in his life, he explains. Gaius just doesn’t want the acrobats to start throwing the knives; they can leave a nasty, permanent mark, one that would probably be fatal. 

He drags Chrom down to a brothel he’s familiar with, familiar not because he’s ever patronized it, but because he’d known that they treated their ladies well here. He’d come across them sometimes, laughing in the alley behind the establishment during their breaks; they’d looked healthy and happy back then, and that mattered more now, to Gaius.

They open the door and the music’s already going strong, a pair of legs shining in the middle of the brothel, on an upraised stage. Chrom audibly gulps next to him. “Gaius.” He whispers furiously, tucking his face into his shoulder. “I… changed my mind. I d-don’t think I can do this,” he stammers, eyes darting back and forth rapidly. Gaius dislodges his shoulder from Chrom’s face, because honestly he’s starting to feel a little warm too with Chrom being so embarrassed next to him. 

“Don’t be so shy, Chrom. You aren’t a virgin, are you?” 

Chrom clears his throat.

“Oh. Well, we can change that tonight.”

Gaius laughs out loud when he sees Chrom’s eyes bulge out of his face.

“Alright, alright. We don’t have to if you don’t want to. Just grab two of the seats over there, we don’t need to have sex or anything, but you know, you need to learn how to please your wife when you marry her.” On second thought, he frowns. “Well, maybe that’s not so important. Who’d be stupid enough to give up something like marrying a prince up? But hey,” he claps Chrom on the back. “You’ll still have to learn how. S’not like there’s a manual for this in your palace libraries, huh?”

Chrom, choking, is starting to turn as blue as his hair, so Gaius takes pity on him and sits him down as close as they can get to the platform, before he topples over. The stripper has barely begun working her routine, so they’ve a long show to watch.

“Relax,” he whispers into his ears, the fine blue hairs there tickled by his breath. “Just watch.” It’s good that the light is dim, because if Chrom had seen the gentleness in Gaius’ eyes at that moment, he would have probably stopped looking towards the stage, and in another direction altogether. Still, his shoulders lose the tension, and he eases into the wooden chair.

Because he’s had practice, Gaius slips his fingers into the pouch of money tied securely to Chrom’s belt, but he doesn’t take too much; just enough to get the both of them a couple of ales.

“Stay here, I’ll go get us drinks,” he instructs, waggling his eyebrows. Chrom doesn’t really pay that much attention to him, nodding and covering his flaming face with his hands, though his fingers are cracked open to let his eyes focus on the girl who’s currently peeling off her skirt. Gaius is tempted to roll his eyes again. Chrom’s seen Stumbles flash her pants plenty of times; what’s the difference here?

He makes sure to tip the bartender before he makes his way back, handing the mug to Chrom. The mug is accepted without a word and knocked back just as soundlessly, although the sputters at the end break the silence. “This tastes… strange.” Chrom looks at him for the first time since they’ve entered the bar.

“It’s the water of the common folk, _my prince_.”

Chrom’s eyes widen. “Don’t call me that here! What if people- realize-?”

“Gods, you’re awkward. No one’s gonna call us out for such a tiny nickname. Hell, they can’t hear us over this music, anyway.”

He gets himself a few refills, steadily drinking more and more, helping Chrom down the same amount he does. He starts to feel warm.

The dance is starting to die down, the dancer having stripped off the most that she could while staying halfway decent. She’s making her way down the stage, now, and her roving eyes tell him that she’s looking for a bit of extra gold.

Gaius nudges Chrom. “This is the fun part.” He makes eye contact, gives a shrill whistle, and waves the stripper over. “Hey, sweetheart,” he calls out, letting the coins in his hands catch the light of the candles. “Give this one a lapdance. He’s new.” She smiles, winks salaciously, and puts her hands on his lap, and starts moving.

If she’d known that she was doing this to a prince, she would’ve probably fainted to the floor, but she doesn’t, so she’s very professional. Gaius made the right choice, coming to this bar. It’s just a pity he can’t see Chrom’s face while she’s doing this, though, smothered as it is by her boobs. It would have been something Gaius would have likely committed to memory for the rest of his life.

He passes her quite a bit when she’s done, thanking her. When she sees the amount, her eyes go a little wide. But Gaius doesn’t have to be stingy anymore, and judging the size of her frame, she could use the extra. It’s not his money anyway, so no one can fault him for being less concerned.

Fanning Chrom’s face, he remarks, “You know, it’s probably not healthy to have your face turn from blue to red to green so quickly. You alright, Blue? Too much for you?” Sympathy colors his tone.

Chrom looks at him. “It… wasn’t that bad, actually. But I feel slightly strange. Maybe a bit of fresh air will do us some good.” His cheeks are dusted pink, and Gaius starts getting actually worried, so he leaves their mugs on a table and leads them out the back. Blue wasn’t actually sick, right? What’d happened during the heat of the battle? Was it the beer?

They’re in the same alleyway where Gaius had watched the girls laugh before. Chrom looks down. He jumps.

“Gaius,” Chrom makes a strangled sound. “What’s this?” He gestures frantically.

The thief looks at where he’s gesturing, then stares at him a little funnily. “It’s a hard-on. Don’t tell me you’ve never had one before.”

“What?”

“Like, when you get turned on. You know. You were probably turned on by the girl just now, the way she was grinding on you.”

“Grinding on me?”

“Dancing. On your lap, rubbing against your little boy.”

“My… little boy?”

“Your bird, dick, cock, penis, whatever you call it,” Gaius says exasperatedly. When Chrom’d said that he wasn’t experienced in the ways of the world, he hadn’t been joking around. “Don’t your royal tutors teach you this or something? Didn’t they ever give you the talk about the birds and the bees?”

Silence.

“Well, that’s alright then. I’ll help you take care of it, here.” Gaius doesn’t know what possesses him, but he takes off his gloves, tucks them in his belt, pushes Chrom into the wall, deft fingers slipping into the waistband of his pants, palming what’s there.

“Gaius,” Chrom’s voice hitches. “What are you doing?”

“I’ll help you make your erection go away.” Gaius lifts an eyebrow at Chrom. “This is the only way. Apart from actually sticking it in.” He tugs. “Take it from me, you’ll enjoy it.” Gaius has had experience, many a cold night spent in the only way he and his partners could to warm them both up. They couldn’t exactly afford to start a fire when they were still on the run, after all.

“It’s for practice,” he placates. “For your future wife.” Gaius is probably a little drunk.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” but Chrom finally gives in and grinds on his palm. Even though the night is cold, and a little fuzzy around the edges, Gaius can see the line of sweat beading down Chrom’s temple, the way his hair sticks to his skin. Chrom’s only looking at him, now, and it makes Gaius’ heart beat fast. It’s been a long time since Gaius was anything but calm and cool. 

“It’s alright, Blue. Practice, right?”

The rhythmic sound of Chrom’s breaths mingle with Gaius’ sultry encouragements. Something hot and painful settles in his chest. The cobblestones and puddles are barely visible, stained red by the dim illumination of the red lantern lights.

“There you go, Blue, that’s it.” Chrom jerks one last time into his hand, moans, _Gaius,_ and melts over him, boneless. Gaius is still breathing fast, heart thudding out of his chest. He’s giddy, heart too big for his chest, when suddenly the balloon bursts. His mind races with a thousand different thoughts, ‘Oh Gods. Gods, what have I _done_ ,’, he can feel his own dick hanging heavy in his pants, he’d just given a handjob to _Chrom_ , when Chrom nuzzles into his shoulder, and his brain short circuits.

“That was…” his muffled voice sounds. “Nice.” 

Gaius gathers himself and slips his hand out of Chrom’s pants hastily. He wipes his hand on the stone walls, wipes it again on the back of his shirt where no one will see because it’ll be covered by his cloak, where there’s enough stains that a new one won’t make a difference.

“Yeah. Well,” Gaius clears his throat, looking anywhere but Chrom’s face, afraid to see what’s there. “That’s enough for tonight. It’s getting late.” The moon has climbed faster up the sky than they’d both noticed.

Chrom is genial to him on the way back, and it makes the weight in Gaius’ chest ease a little. It makes him feel like he hasn’t done something far too awful, something that would have been completely unforgivable. (His forearm burns.)

He really is something else, Gaius thinks, when Chrom tries to bluff his way through the guards, who would have been too sleepy at this time of the night to care, if not for the fact that it was their crown prince at the gates, stammering about something like needing to get fresh air. They snap wide awake, and don’t doubt Chrom, even though Chrom is terrible at lying. Gaius is wide awake, too. Sobered by the sharp night wind, which hits him like a slap on the face.

He has to remember, though, that tonight was for Chrom. Nothing would come of tonight, except an alcohol-hazed memory for him, and a secret that Gaius will take to his grave.

Gaius asks him if it was fun a little too enthusiastically, but Chrom doesn’t really think about its genuinity, answering his questions as they come. Gaius goes off on a tangent, and maybe, just maybe he thinks he’s fallen in love with Chrom, because Chrom smiles at him secretly when Gaius suggests they go again, expecting for Chrom to reject him completely, says, “Maybe later,” and the balloon in Gaius’ chest bursts again.

\--

“Looks like little blue’s got it in his head to invade some enemy ranks tonight,” the thief smirks. 

‘Maybe later’ has turned into this, with the moon high up in the sky, white in its fullness, barely days after their trip to that den of iniquity. Gaius feels confident with a headiness that he can’t really describe.

(“I can’t believe the carpets match the drapes, he’d remarked, earlier. Chrom had made a funny noise.)

He laps around the base of Chrom’s dick. It’s the first time he’s seen it up close, and it smells strong. It’s thick by his cheek, and he mouths at it. Gaius cups his hand around his balls, tongue flat against the underside of the shaft as he licks his way up to the tip.

His eyes flick upwards, and Chrom is staring at him with his mouth covered, breathing fast, eyes shining with- something- and Gaius quickly looks back down, focusing on swallowing his head instead, being careful with his teeth.

Chrom’s erection is already wet, so it’s an easy thing to slide his hand upwards and wrap it around his cock. He pushes his head down until it hits the back of his throat, and both his mouth and hand move in a rhythmic motion. He’s so hard, it hurts, but he’s not the point of attention here. Chrom is.

The prince digs his hand into the thief’s hair, and clutches it tightly, and says, in a strangled voice, “Gaius,” and Gaius starts moving faster and faster until there’s a warm spurt in his mouth he can see Chrom’s thighs trembling from the small aftershocks.

He swallows, releases it, and suddenly Chrom grabs his shoulders and shifts him upwards and _they’re kissing_ , and he can feel Chrom smiling around his mouth. 

Gaius sighs against his lips, pulling away, and unbuckles his own belt. Pushing Chrom down into the bed, he straddles him using his thighs, grins a grin that’s too wide, and leans down to kiss him again.

The glow of the candlelight flickers, in the darkness of the tent, and it briefly casts Gaius’ face into shadow.

When he lifts his body up and settles down, splaying his fingers against Chrom’s chest, he reminds himself that it’s just practice. It’s just practice, and it doesn’t mean anything. Gaius looks down and sees- Chrom still smiling at him, damp hair clinging to his forehead. 

With a roll of his hips, Gaius gasps, and his thoughts quickly disappear. 

\--

Spring turns into summer. The days pass quickly. They’ve stalled a little bit, biding the time to strengthen their forces even as war preparations begin in the capital. It’s surprisingly peaceful despite how close they are to war.

It’s hard to remember a time where the tent he stores his candy in now isn’t his home, or maybe it’s just that he doesn’t want to. Even though the tension should render the air sordid, it’s still cheerful at the barracks, and nothing has hit them hard yet. Everyone’s alive, and it’s the most permanence that Gaius has ever known in his life. They don’t mind so much that he tucks into their dessert when they’re not looking, no. It’s a common enough problem that they don’t even find offense anymore. Gaius enjoys it, to the point that he takes his time to savor the sweets now - he’d never had the luxury of that before.

He observes the rest even more now, taking care to grow even more familiar with their routines, their hobbies and passions and loves. There’s already a few romances starting to bloom, too. Most of all, he observes Chrom. It’s not like he does it intentionally; rather, it’s like his eyes drift naturally to him, like a weed bends up to face the sky. His mentions of Chrom to the others during their conversations aren’t intentional, either. He just lingers in his thoughts, something everpresent.

His hair sweeps past his ears, grows shaggy. Cordelia is the one who calls him out on it. Although it’s been pleasant having Chrom card his fingers through it, he supposes it’s time for him to get a haircut. She applies the scissors to his hair, and although hairs on the back of his neck bristles when the cold metal touches it, too reminiscent of a fate he barely avoided, Gaius finds that he trusts her. He trusts the rest of the Shepherds with his life.

He’s still thinking about the way she’d frowned when he said he’d ducked his hair in the horses’ water trough a few days back, and he asks her why she cares so much about his grooming.

“Because you are one of Chrom’s staunchest and most valuable allies.” Snip.

He hopes that Cordelia attributes the redness on the nape of his neck that appears at that statement to the proximity of the scissors, or even the touch of her delicate hands.

Gaius is alive, and this is the most happiness that he has ever known in his life.

\--

It’s the dead of night, and they’ve just finished practicing, again. Gaius knows that by now Chrom knows that what they do isn’t normal, but Chrom doesn’t say anything about it, so Gaius doesn’t either. Gaius doesn’t want this to end.

Chrom tells him, though, when the clouds cover the moon, that he’s glad Lissa’d had that bag of candy with her when they’d met Gaius. His voice is so earnest that Gaius’ chest swells, and the corners of his eyes crinkle with laughter.

He swirls his finger in the air, landing it to point at the side of his head. “You didn’t really think that I kept going along with this war just because of a bag of candy and some gold, did you?” he measures out steadily. “Sorry to disappoint you, Blue, but even I’m not that shallow.”

His smile stretches into a grin, tinted with mirth.

“Well, why are you lying there looking like as shocked as a Risen for? Don’t tell me that you actually thought I’d love the taste of death, sweet as it probably will be.” His voice rolls with sarcasm, but his eyes are unreadable. “I joined- stayed in the war for a reason, Blue,” and Chrom is clueless to the steady gaze directed towards him.

\--

Chrom slides his gloves down to get at his forearms. Gaius freezes.

The tip of a burn scar is exposed, the type of scar that appears after hot metal is pressed to flesh, and left to fester untreated in a cell underground, unable to count the days to when the pain wouldn’t matter anymore.

The redhead backpedals swiftly, saying brightly, “Oh would you look at that, Blue, I think i forgot that I left a crowberry tart uncovered back at my tent!” He pulls his gloves back up quickly, inches his shirt back down. “Those damned bears, they’re probably be gettin’ at ‘em right now, as you and I speak. You know, they’re definitely the greedy kind. I saw them roamin’ around, tryin’ to get at honey. Those are the signs of people and animals who are greedy as hell, yup. Only greedy people try and take honey.” His voice shakes.

Chrom grabs his arm as he tries to stumble ungracefully away. Gaius pauses, again, his rambling having tapered off into a very quiet silence. He’s trembling, a little bit.

“I know.” Chrom scratches his head a little, and lets out a loose laugh. “I have a brand on my arm too. It’s nothing special.”

The trembling slows, and the smile that breaks the heaviness of the air is small, barely an upturned corner on the edges of the thief’s lips.

He pulls on the arm, once, and their foreheads touch again. Their lips catch, and Gaius’s eyes are bright with gratitude.

\--

The play of a mechanical lock clicking back and forth as its bolts slide into place, Gaius finds, is like a strain of music only he can hear. He is almost used to lockpicking now, but there will always be a thrill in every new lock he finds, every new combination he has to fiddle with to figure it out. He approaches it the same way he would figure out a recipe or a way to make niceties. A push in the right direction, never waiting too much time for it to make that small sound that indicated an approval of his way, and gentle, calculated, finicky adjustments. 

A heart is more complex than a lock, though, and Gaius doesn’t realize that as he focuses on unraveling another person’s heart, it’d mean he’d be handing them the keys to his own.

For someone who has long, thin fingers, Gaius is surprisingly thick. Above him, Chrom is sweaty, hair damp from exertion, eyes glazed. There’s a sense of startling realization that it’s him that had made Chrom this way, him who had played his buttons so exactly. At that thought, Gaius is so flooded with satisfaction, he pulls up to kiss him, slow and full.

Chrom slides to place inside him, and he covers his face to muffle a cross between a moan and a shudder, and he loosens, a lock being undone.

\--

When the morning comes, it is still dark. The weight of a head on his chest soothes him, soft cobalt hair tickling him - still not enough to make him want to move, though. The sun rises slowly, soft and pink, unlike the red blaze that had been dusk the previous day. As the minutes tick by, Gaius wonders if Chrom can hear the beating of his chest, wonders if this will be a sight he can welcome every morning from now on.

\--

It’s not. 

Gaius is too scared, and it’s easier to leave Chrom than have him leave him. He doesn’t think they can be happy together. Blue is an ocean, endless with possibility, and a man like him, he knows, will never match up to that or give anything close in return. He’d only drown (already has, he thinks wryly). 

Gaius is scared, because Emmeryn dies, and he seeing Chrom’s face razed by grief, he doesn’t know what to do. Gaius is a man of fleeting moments, a man that exists only in the night. He doesn’t stand with Chrom, not as he addresses the nation in this time of mourning. He doesn’t do anything, and they grow distant. Someone else picks up the pieces. He knows, because he has keen eyes, and even if they grow soft at the sight of Chrom, Gaius doesn’t miss the way others, his friends, those that shine in the light like he does, now gather around him.

Still, he reads the invitation to the wedding of the newly enthroned exalt and his fiancee, and even though he knows (it’s over) he has no place in it, his chest seizes up.

He told himself he’d stop being a thief when he joined the Shepherds. He’d keep his hands off what didn’t belong to him.

(If Chrom was a lock, then Gaius was never the key; he was a lockpick, a cheap fake. Now that the real key is found, there’s no need for him anymore.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the conversation that cordelia has with gaius is the cordelia/gaius b support.
> 
> kudos and comments appreciated <3


	2. maybe later

It’s not. 

Gaius is too scared, and it’s easier to leave Chrom than have him leave him. He doesn’t think they can be happy together. Blue is an ocean, endless with possibility, and a man like him, he knows, will never match up to that or give anything close in return. He’d only drown (already has, he thinks wryly). 

Gaius is scared, because Emmeryn dies, and seeing Chrom’s face razed by grief, he doesn’t know what to do. Gaius is a man of fleeting moments, a man that exists only in the night. He doesn’t stand with Chrom, not as he addresses the nation in this time of mourning. He doesn’t do anything. Someone else picks up the pieces. He knows, because he has keen eyes, and even if they grow soft at the sight of Chrom, Gaius doesn’t miss the way others, those that shine in the light like he does, now gather around him.

Still, he reads the invitation to the wedding of the newly enthroned exalt and his fiancee, and even though he knows (it’s over) he has no place in it, his chest seizes up.

He told himself he’d stop being a thief when he joined the Shepherds. He’d keep his hands off what didn’t belong to him.

(If Chrom was a lock, then Gaius was never the key; he was a lockpick, a cheap fake. Now that a real key's been found, there’s no need for him anymore.)


End file.
